


cars headed down to oblivion

by plague_ofdogs



Category: No. 6, No. 6 (Anime & Manga), No. 6 - All Media Types, No. 6 - Asano Atsuko
Genre: Depression, Gen, Longing, Post-Canon, Sadness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 15:30:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6245308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plague_ofdogs/pseuds/plague_ofdogs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short, about Shion's life post canon. Unhappy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	cars headed down to oblivion

 

He would always be slightly awkward, but Shion knew how to dance now. A very friendly young gay man (a city official’s NEET son) taught him one night, during a loud, austere government mixer. Shion found himself strangely attracted to the young man, who wore silver earrings, green hair, and colorful button-up shirts. He was kind and gentle, jokingly instructing Shion how to do the box step, which eventually decended into some sort of gyrating dance which Shion was too embarrassed to perform.

At the time Shion was just shy of seventeen, messily intoxicated for the second time in his life. He drunkenly told the young man all about his first kiss, while flapping his hands joyously, his cheeks bright pink and words slurring. The young man found the story immensely amusing. Later he walked Shion home. Shion wordlessly stumbled across the quiet city streets, head filled with longing for Nezumi, memories playing like a silent movie in his mind. Shion fell asleep that night quickly, thoughts full of Nezumi...

...Nezumi is gone.

Soon after, in a more sober state of mind, Shion realized that living in constant hope that Nezumi would just pop in, anytime, was pointless. Though for a short while, Shion’s first thought upon waking was “I wonder if he’ll come back today!” he knew that rationally, Nezumi would not return. He was a part of the past. Shion decided one day in a fit of dramatic angst that he would never love anyone else in the same way (what way, he barely understood himself).

Despite all this, Shion did understand clearly his own needs: to move on, to continue going forward at any cost, to overcome the pain and acute sadness which struck unfairly in quiet moments. He needed a purpose to propel himself forward—Nezumi had imperialistically charged him with the vague task of building up No. 6, so this he would accomplish.

Shion had never seen a clear vision of his own future anyway; this task would do to occupy his time, absorb his working ability. Contrary thoughts crept in anyway.

“I don’t really give a shit about this city,” he thought one day bitterly, as he zoned in and out of a boring administrative meeting. Shion did not give in to the intense anger that occasionally cropped up, so it eventually subsided, as the work became more cerebral and absorbing. The government duties were a new type of interesting—learning about people, what they wanted, how they reasoned (in ways completely foreign to Shion). He learned the art of guile, began to understand how to manipulate others in order to achieve goals. Eventually the goals themselves mattered less and less; the personal vagaries of his colleagues–mostly entitled bureaucrats and a few clueless socialist zealots–proved an endless source of fascination.

 

* * *

 

 

In his eighteenth year, Shion sank into depression. He found it hard to complete his duties, at home or at work. After helping track down several ex-Correctional facility scientists and successfully getting them sentenced to execution, Shion took time off.

He spent a lot of time that year reading, watching endless comedy on the television, sketching vignettes, or passively staring out windows. Karan had put in heated floors recently, and he spent a lot of time lying or crouching on them, often doing nothing at all. Karan encouraged him to interact with his age cohorts, but eventually gave up when she realized that Shion did not wish to breach the vast divide between himself and others. Most teenagers’ best friends had not been brutally murdered by a totalitarian government, and unfortunately his only other friend (or rather, savior, Karan often thought gratefully) had abruptly left. She did not know exactly what had happened in the correctional facility, what horrors her son had witnessed, but had the sense to not prod him. He will eventually become less traumatized, she reasoned after reading a book about PTSD, written by a suave and slightly smarmy ex-marine from No. 1.

Karan briefly considered sending Shion abroad to visit foreign psychiatrists, since the ones in No. 6 seemed mainly clueless pill peddlers. She could not bear to be parted from him again, however, and he did not want to leave No. 6.

Instead, Karan got him proscribed several different medications, which seemed to help–until he stopped taking them. She continued to worry. She secretly wondered how much Nezumi had to do with this turn of events, but when she voiced this aloud, Shion vehemently denied it, and explained pragmatically that Nezumi was a part of his past—a good part—but gone forever. Then he tried to take a nap, failed, and spent his evening curled up on the floor, identifying patterns and knolls in the warped wood floor.

Nezumi was very far away—a distant hidden figure in Shion’s mental landscape. The rest was dull gray static, visible sadness and gloom fading all memories into unimportance.

Besides, no one had any idea where Nezumi had gone. Out of the old crew, only Inukashi still came by occasionally. They always brought a dog or two as entourage, carefully shepherding baby Shionn who toddled merrily along. Inukashi was still sarcastic, but seemed less bitter and jaded, more simple and careless. They always left piles of dog hair interspersed with long shiny blank human hairs, making Karan sneeze explosively when she swept it up.

Shion could spent hours playing with baby Shionn, a bright, senstive child. Inukashi always talked and laughed loudly in futile efforts shake off Shion’s aura of uncharacteristic negativity.

Rikiga hung around the bakery in a cloud of middle aged regret and alcoholic smoke for several months after Nezumi left. When Karan finally told him off, he never came back. Eventually he appeared in the No. 6 news after being viciously sued by a former prostitute, whose nude photographs he’d exploited without paying her. Karan narrowed her eyes at the television, frowned, then turned it off. It stayed off for the rest of the evening.

Gradually Shion’s world shrunk. The floor was very comfortable after all. Karan made him exercise. Shion developed muscles—he looked older, taller and buffer, but still found daily life prohibitively hard. He vaguely considered a foreign university. For the present, he continued to watch television and sit in corners, taking his medications rarely.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm sorry this is depressing as shit. Go wrap yourself in a blanket & rewatch the dance scene from the anime--you deserve it.


End file.
